He returns to the penthouse late. Finds Elias pale, shaking, phone still pressed to his ear.

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the room. He always had a nervous energy, but this… this was different. Too quiet. Like someone had cracked him open and left the pieces scattered across the floor.

His eyes were glassy. His fingers white on the phone. No color in his face.

And then I heard the voice. I didn’t need the whole conversation. Just a few words.

I saw his shoulders tighten. A flinch. That kind of recoil doesn’t come from a stranger. It comes from someone who knew where to hurt.

So I walked forward, slow. Deliberate.

He turned, and his face said everything.

I took the phone from his hand. He didn’t fight me. I ended the call. Clean. Efficient.

I looked at him. He couldn’t meet my eyes. Not even for a second.

“I didn’t want to answer it,” he whispered, small.

I didn’t answer him at first. My blood was hot, my mind cold. I knew that name. That voice. I remembered the file. The bruises. The scars he never explained.

"You answered anyway."

I didn’t mean it cruelly. But maybe it came out that way.

He looked like I’d shot him. And I hated that.

So I turned, grabbed my coat, and said the only thing I could without losing control: “Don’t leave. I’ll be back in an hour.”

I didn’t tell him where I was going. But I was already thinking about the man on the phone.

And how he’d never speak again.